


When You're Lost

by Roga



Category: Hockey RPF, Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Olympics, Sochi 2014, kind of flirting but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:19:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/pseuds/Roga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kelli's drunk enough to think that Patrick Kane looks hot tonight, which means she's probably drunker than she wants to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You're Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shoshanah-ben-hohim (Shoshanah_ben_hohim)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoshanah_ben_hohim/gifts).



Kelli's drunk enough to think that Patrick Kane looks hot tonight, which means she's probably drunker than she wants to be. 

"Ugh," she says, dropping down to a plastic chair next to him, in an emo dark corner of the US common room. The music has changed from Springsteen to ABBA and at some point someone brought in a disco ball, so the rest of the room is flashing with colored lights refracting from mirrors and medals. "Can you put your face away, please. You're depressing to look at."

Kaner looks lost and exhausted, staring vacantly into his beer, eyes still a little red-rimmed. He doesn't lean away when she presses her shoulder against his, his only reaction, "Hey, Stacker."

"Hey, loser," she says, and clinks her beer to his, taking another swig of her own. There's another, softer _clang_ as she rests the bottle on her thigh and it rings against her medal, heavy and burning against her chest. She wants to rip it off and throw it in the ocean. "So, here we are."

"Here we are," Kaner agrees tightly, sounding a little pissed, but mostly so fucking sad. She knows exactly how he feels, because there's a black, churning feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thinks about the fact that Julie will never win gold for the US, a bone-deep ache when she thinks about the last two minutes of the game. Her mind keeps replaying her shot ringing off the post in slow motion, over and over again, each time accompanied with a sharp, hot pain in her chest, lost opportunity, a chance that comes around once every four years and they let it slip between their fingers.

Kaner played his ass off and missed his two penalty shots and they lost, that's the only thing that matters in the end, _losing_ , and now he looks frustrated and miserable and his eyelashes are really long and dark. Kelli's had too much to drink.

"You're so annoying," she says.

Kaner snorts. "What did I do now?" 

Kelli remembers the first time they played together at fourteen, the first time she scored a goal off of one of his assists, wrapped up in the victorious group hug of their top line. She remembers the tournament she racked up more points than him and it meant he worked that much harder to beat her next time, but never wavered in wanting her _on his team_. " _You're so annoying_ ," she used to tell him, when he would grin at her brightly after wins, when he was proud to beat the teams she was on because he knew how good she was, when he stopped putting in extra time in school because he'd never need to go to college anyway. 

"You're making me feel sorry for you for losing," she says.

Kaner laughs bitterly. "Yeah, well. I'm feeling sorry for myself too."

" _I know,_ " she says, and kicks him in the shin. "Remind me where you're going to be again next week."

Kaner flushes slightly, ducking his head. "I think – MSG."

She doesn't prod him to say more, because they both know exactly where he'll be and what it means: playing the New York Rangers in front of 18 thousand people, making 6.5 million dollars a year, fighting for the Stanley Cup, followed by a nation, or two, or five – who are almost as passionate about it as he is. 

"Yeah," she says, and takes another swig of beer. "I want to punch you in the face."

Kaner snorts. "That makes the two of us."

"God, stop being so self-deprecating."

"I'm – cut me some slack, I'm not trying to play poor little rich boy, I know how lucky I am, okay. I'm just – it really fucking sucks." 

The thing is, it really fucking does. Kelli sighs, and doesn't punch him in the face. The corner of his lips curves upward. "Give me twenty four hours to mope, eh?"

"Oh, god," she says, and this time she does punch him in the shoulder. "You spend way too much of your time with Canadians."

His expression turns into a scowl. "Fuck Canada."

"Fuck Canada," she repeats, and swallows down the lump of pain that rises when she thinks about it again. Ugh.

Kaner's eyes flick down to look at her medal with something close to longing. Well, either her medal or her boobs, but both options would be equally stupid, because this medal is not what either of them want, and, well. 

It's not like she'd never considered it. She'd actually spent quite a bit of time considering it, back when they were 17, which is super embarrassing to admit since it was way before Kaner ever grew into his face, but he'd had a crush on her and his stickhandling had always turned her on and she was a teenager, so of course, of course she'd had thoughts.

"Ugh," she groans. "I am way too drunk to be thinking about this."

Kaner raises an eyebrow. "About fucking Canada?"

"About fucking you," she says, and it's almost adorable how fast he blushes, immediately trying to hide it by taking another drink. 

"Warn a guy, Jesus," he says, wiping his mouth, still bright red. "I thought that was never going to happen."

"It's still never going to happen," she assures him, and thinks: I am way too jealous of you to ever sleep with you.

"Good, cause I have a girlfriend," he says. 

Kelli can't help but laugh, doesn't fight the urge to pat him on the head. "Don't worry, Kaner, your virtue's safe with me." She unfolds from the chair, stands without swaying, a small triumph against alcohol and gravity. "I'm turning in. You have twenty four hours to think about what an epic national failure we are, then put a lid on that shit, okay?"

Kaner nods. "Hey. I'll see you in four years, yeah?"

Kelli raises her beer in salute. "Four years," she promises, before heading out.

*

**Author's Note:**

> image credit to [hockeyinspires](http://hockeyinspires.tumblr.com/post/77749305455) @ tumblr


End file.
